Busman’s Holiday

In the day job I do “techy stuff” and teach IT and “basic skills” to a assortment of unemployed adults and young people who are, in the horrible parlance of the powers that be, “disengaged from education” and have left school with few or no qualifications for whatever reason.

I’ll take whatever I can to engage them – which ranges from flying paper aeroplanes around the maths classroom and working out the fraction of a Smarties tube which are hyperactive-blue, to getting them to create blogs and projects on anything like they like, to using ”who wants to be a millionaire” style handsets for multichoice, on the the interactive whiteboard.

We also teach teachers how to use the IWBs and have started doing workshops for other training providers on best use of IT.

So when, I discovered the LAA and their Youth and Education Support bit had a IWB it seemed the logical place to offer my services.  We’ve taken it a few places like Splash where the Scouts were brilliant with it and more recently the Royal Berks Strut asked if they could borrow it for some stuff they do with Scout badges and for their open day, so I bounded up there to do a demo.

The original plan was to take TOMS, but a combination of mechanical problems and dreadful weather on the day put paid to that, and it was a train job.

What a gorgeous airfield White Waltham is.  Lovely club, lots of social side and enthusiasts of all types.  Grand evening.  I did my bit, then listened with pleasure to talks about the filming of “Dangerous Adventures for Boys” and the experiences of a Jaguar pilot in the first Gulf War.  (Who was also the first of the evening brave enough to get his hands on the IWB and collar it for use in his presentation!)  Must be that fighter pilot daring )

I left for the overnight B&B full of ideas and enthusiasm.

In no hurry to get home the following day I wandered back over to the airfield, explored the hangars, drank lots of coffee and eventually met back up with Mike, who’d organised the talk and loan of the board.  He had with him John, the builder of a dropdown gorgeous RV6A he’d finished building late last year.

Lovely aeroplane! (Photo from RVUK)

He asked if I want to go flying, and there’s only one answer to that isn’t there?

I love other people’s aeroplane and this one was especially attractive, beautifully built and finished and went like the clappers.

We bounced (rather solid steel undercarriage!) over the grass of Waltham’s ample runways and were up and climbing away. 

John handed control over to me one we were level and trimmed, and after checking we were quite clear the he was navigating (lots of airspace…) I happily stooged around getting the feel for it.

Lovely and light in roll, slightly disconcertingly light in pitch — my first few attempts at turns had me rocketing skywards!

As usual on the rare occasions I’ve flown this side of the country the difference in the scenery was striking.  Still pretty, but far more horizon than I’m used to — I’m lost without hills!

We overflew Greenham Common and admired the lovely little airfield at Brimpton. 

We flew over the “real life” Watership Down at Kingsclere, then a fantastic hillfort (Beacon Hill near Burghclere) that outdid my local favourite Hardings Down, and Highclere, the impressive stately home turned hotel, that had originally belonged to Lord Caernarvon.

It was about this point I realised we were really covering some ground — this was a fast aeroplane. 

I also realised that I needed for my own sanity to find out what “clere” meant in all those place names.  (This turned out trickier than expected when consulting Google back home — it’s either Middle-English for “clearing” or “claer” which is Welsh for “bright”, which seems a bit inexplicable but apparently might have been the name of a river or stream…)

John obviously knows his local landmarks well, perhaps this is a favourite route for taking flyers unfamiliar with the area.  Either way, I adored both the scenery and the handling of this fun little aeroplane.

John generously allowed me to fly all the way to final, talking me round the slightly convoluted noise abatement procedures as well as the join in place to deal with the fact that half the ATZ in inside the London TMA.

He took back control to put us down very tidily and taxy back in while I grinned and enthused.

Have I mentioned how I love other people’s aeroplanes…

Trusting the checks…

Had been invited to fly down to the Isle of Wight with another group member today

Glorious weather, planning and NOTAM all done, genned up on the new phraseology and as he was flying the first leg I was staring reasonably aimlessly out of the window until:

“That’s not much of a drop.”

I watched as he repeated the carb heat test. In fact it was no drop at all that either of us us could detect.

Back to the apron to investigate.

Cable snapped. Broken clean off at the point where it connects to the little moving lever arm that presumably operates whatever it is that changes the incoming air source.

Mildly alarming given that we’d been about to pile off on a hour and half flight, the first 15 minutes of which would be spent over the Bristol Channel.

Sunny day but hazy, I’m pretty certain there was enough moisture about to have really ruined our day.

After the fact I find myself wondering what I’d have done alone. We were both wondering as we taxyed back if we were over reacting. I hope I’d have made the same decision.

The part in question is easy to see with the cowling open and I do tend to give it a tweak. I didn’t do the walkaround this time and the other chap didn’t know which part that was so we’re really not sure at what point it broke.

The connection is via a sort of clamp held with a nut and I could turn the nut with my fingers when I investigated which I doubt is normal. I wonder if the fact that it was loose might have caused fatigue in the cable if it was moving in a back and forth instead of in and out direction (does that make sense? maybe not).

Anyway a salient reminder to me that a) power checks are there fr a good sound reason, not to be taken for granted, and b) it’s worth knowing what’s connected to what in that gobbldegook of cables under the cowling!

The usual haunts…

I haven’t been into Pembrey in a long time, it seems almost silly to bother from Swansea, even though I’m fond of the place.  So when there was a Flyer Forum trip there last Saturday, I straight away decided to go.  Someone else had TOMS booked, so plan A was the train and pushbike, but that was quickly replaced by an offer of a lift in Waveflyer’s very plush 182.

Since it was so close, we planned a quick turnaround, on the apron, and sorting out the landings later. 

TOMS had not yet departed, so I sat on the wing and watched Osprey Formation practice their twirlybatics, while I waited.

Soon enough Waveflyer arrived, and parked up beside WhiskeyLima, making me smile to myself — ‘WL is a slightly elderly C172 tricked out in the shiny, curvy paintscheme of a brand new 182, parked next to the real thing, she was fooling no one

We took off quickly and flew the short hop to Pembrey with me grinning around at this familiar patch of sky.

On arrival at Pembrey we could hear aircraft being directed hither and thither to park all over the place — I don’t think Pembrey had seen so many aeroplanes in years!

The cafe certainly hadn’t and was struggling to cope with the numbers.

Nevertheless, once the majority of the forumites had rearranged the tables to sit together as a mob, the wait for food was soon swallowed by conversation and introductions.

An enjoyable afternoon, then back into the air for the short flight home.  Gower was looking particularly pretty in the hazy sunshine, prompting Waveflyer to voice my own usual line at being able to do this – ”Aren’t we lucky.”

Too right!

The following day, TOMS was mine, and I’d initially planned another forumish trip, UKGA at Leicester this time.  The weather, while clear, was gusty and forecast changeable though, and the hours before the oil filter change were getting close.

I prefer to make a habit of only carrying one potential worry at a time, when flying, and hour-plus-weather made two.  I therefore decided that Haverfordwest and a family lunch was the fallback plan.  Closer to home if the weather turned, and familiar runways to offset the challenging wind.

I untied the aeroplane and jammed the cover under the heavy tiedowns, before straightening to gaze at the tossing windsock.  They were using 28, but the wind was a sharp northwesterly.

I ran through the checks and listened out on the radio.  320 at 17 gusting 22.  Interesting.

Oh well, I was probably due some more crosswind practise anyway.  Not for the first time, I was glad of having learnt back at Pembrey.  One runway meant that crosswind landing became less of a black art and more of a routine exercise!

I updated my mum with an ETA and taxied out.  Osprey were up and about again, though only a two-ship today. 

Last time I went to Haverfordwest I’d dawdled terribly on the way, but I kept it more or less direct today, apart from a brief detour to look at the new holiday village next to Oakwood park.  From the air it doesn’t look as big as I thought it was.

Haverfordwest were very prompt on the radio today, though the wind was, if anything, stronger across 27 and needed a certain amount of concentration.  I floated on, longer than I’d have liked, but there’s plenty of space.

I met up with my mum, and to my surprise my brother and his wife as well.  Uncharacteristically, the cafe had already officially finished serving hot food, and a rather literal-minded young member of staff baulked at serving us the remaining sausages clearly still visible on display.  Rather dismayed, we defected to the cafe at the department store down the road.

There was very little activity at the airfield in any case.  Although the sun was shining, perhaps the wind had deterred some.

Time had ticked on with the detour for food, so I didn’t hang about on arrival back at the airfield. 

With the wind behind me the trip home was considerably faster.  (I would be inclined to say it “flew by” if that wasn’t an outrageous pun” and I was back at Swansea in 20 minutes.

I then proceeded to make a muddle of the circuit, lack of forethought allowing the crosswind to blow me into a stupidly wide downwind position as a result of which I was forever on base!

Got it sorted out on final for a reasonably presentable crosswind landing.

I tied the aircraft down and shivered my way back indoors.  Roll on those balmy summer days!

A sudden urge to aviate

I hadn’t really planned to fly this weekend.  The aircraft is getting close to maintenance time again and I had hoped to sally off next Sunday to a UKGA “do”, and anyway the weather forecast was rubbish.

In point of fact even the METARs for Cardiff were rubbish Sunday morning, but the sun was shining and no one else had the aircraft booked and somehow I found myself looking at the weather, and the NOTAMs and slowly the desire to go and fly crept up on me.

I still had some doubts about the weather.  Cardiff was still giving low cloud and rotten vis, but all I could see out of the window was blue skies.  I eventually talked myself into it via a convoluted self-deluding logic that had me decided to pedal the shiny new pushbike out there and collect the new Pooley’s I’d bought.  That way (I told myself!) I was still doing something useful if the weather did suddenly decide to follow the forecast and scupper my flying.

I’d been meaning for a while to try out the pushbike option, it’s cycle paths almost all the way, bar one enormous and exhausting hill (I got off and pushed!), but there was something charmingly childish about cycling to the airport (freewheeling down the massive Killay hill was more hair-raising than anything in the air!) and the weather appeared to be holding.

The airfield was quiet given the weather.  Perhaps most people had believed the forecast, but I was warmed beyond measure to see one of the Vigilants up and flying.  There was an awful accident earlier in the week, two air cadets and instructors from St Athan killed in a mid-air and after such a tragedy it was unbelievably good to see young people on the airfield, still smiling, still flying.  In a world where knee-jerk reaction to accidents are so commonplace it was amazing to see the VGS operating more or less normally.  Since every single conversation on the field eventually got around to the accident, it must have taken great courage from those cadets to be there at all.  Frankly I wish I could bottle some of their remarkable spirit. 

What an incredible organisation.

Perhaps to people who don’t fly it would be surprising that I was so keen, almost desperately so all of a sudden, to go and fly, just days after an accident so close to home.  Maybe it was some subconscious sense of defiance that drove me, but the sky was blue, and TOMS started willingly at the first few turns of the prop and the windsock was the limpest I’d seen in ages.  It seemed the silliest thing in the world to ask, “Why fly?” when everything about the day asked why on Earth you wouldn’t want to.

So… rolling down the runway once again, wearing the usual silly grin as the wheels eventually left the ground.

I say eventually because I’d almost forgotten how much of a difference to the roll that limp windsock makes — it’s been decidedly windier the past few times I’ve flown!

Since the pushbike option had involved a certain amount of experimentation (I’m still wobbly!) it was a little late in the day for straying too far.  Also, the day’s NOTAMs had caused a moment’s pause since the danger area around Pembrey was additionally active for an hour at lunchtime for some reason. 

Perhaps they were clearing the practise ordnance, I gather they do that at weekends sometimes.  In any case it caused a moment’s pause and interruption to the mental litany of, “The danger area is never open at the weekends… never open at the… Hot damn, it’s open this weekend!”

I only boggled briefly, and in the end decided to wander around Gower then up north a-ways to see if there was any snow left on the higher hills.

Somehow however many times I fly around Gower there’s always something new.  Today the cliffs and caves seemed particularly sharp and clear, the causeway to the Worm was open and almost a dozen paragliders were soaring off Rhossili Down.

I dawdled at 1200′, a favourite sight seeing height, and the accident impinged rarely on my thoughts, now that I was airborne again.  I perhaps paused before deciding not to descend further to oggle the view — afraid that the walkers on the clifftops would also remember and be afraid for this little aircraft which was really only playing at diving and turning about.

I was perhaps more aware of lookout than normal.  Something that I’d ceased to consciously think as much on as I used to and I made a point of schooling myself to a “proper” scan pattern.

Whether I saw more aircraft than normal I don’t know.  I certainly thought about it more.  I tried harder than normal to spot the aircraft announcing themselves to air-ground, made a point of not assuming the one I saw was the one I thought it was, made sure not to stare at the ones I’d spotted instead of looking for others.  All those things we’re taught to do and which can so easily slip into habit or slip away.

In the quieter skies north of the city I flew over reservoirs and hills, and I did find the little traces of snow still on the heights above Ammanford. 

I’d been up an hour and was feeling quite content with my lot once again.  I circled round and headed back down along the Loughor for rejoin.  Two in the circuit and I slotted in downwind.

Landing, I floated on a bit so while the touchdown was gentle enough it wasn’t entirely my most dignified and I sailed straight past my normal exit!

I suppose there always has to be something that doesn’t go right!

I watched the fire engine getting a soap scrub while I waited for fuel then wandered back to the club feeling quietly satisfied with the day.

Playing scales

If last year was my, “Year of attempting to get to France and failing,” then this is lining up to be my year of, “Trying to get to Caernarfon and failing”.

For once I arrived at the airport to blue skies and a vaguely promising forecast in hand — only to find a phone call to Caernarfon saddling me with, “Thundery showers and a 1000′ cloud base!”

Oh well.  It was still a sunny day here anyway.  Swansea seemed to be in its own little microclimate but climbing away I looked out at the clouds building inland.

Since I was going nowhere in particular I decided to practise a bit of “rough guess” nav and play the game of, “How accurately can I fly?”  I picked a destination, guessed a heading, drift and distance and struck out trying to keep as close as possible to my chosen heading and my chosen cruise climb speed of 80 knots.

Deciding to level out at 2500, I missed it by a hundred foot, and since I was playing the accuracy game, decided to go for 3000′ instead where my levelling off was a bit neater!

My first couple of waypoints (chosen for scenic value or lack of cloud in their general direction) turned up more or less where I expected them, before I tired of that game and decided to play another.  This one known as, “So how high does this cloud go then?”

Spiraling lazily upwards, I watched the coast dwindle away below me and the view broaden to encompass more and more miles of green fields, little villages and the frequent reservoirs and wind farms.

At 6000′ feet the cloud topped out and I gave it another 1000′ more before levelling and nipping over the top to look down at the gaps.  From up here it seemed somehow far more broken than it looked from underneath. 

It appears to be something of an open question how  much of the ground, “In sight of the surface,” requires, so I didn’t venture too far from the still clear coastline!

Back over clear air I thought I may as well do some general handling practice, and so I launched into slow flight, and fast-as-I-could flight, and stalls and steep turns.  (All of which were atrocious on the first attempt but improved enough to satisfy me).

I attempted to work out how long it would take to get down from 7000′ (even with the height I lost stuffing up stalls and steep stuff…) and decided that since I was headed down anyway I may as well get in some practise on gliding turns, and sideslips.

Back at a more civilised 3000′, and in spite of my regular attempts to to warm the engine, all that stalling and sideslipping and gliding up in the chilly heights meant that the oil was looking a shade cool.  Since I wasn’t ready to head home yet, I settled down to a nice steady cruise and ambled along the river valley admiring the scenery. 

I wasn’t paying much attention to navigation, since all that was required to find my home was to fly south until the sea appeared.  This gave me a chance to play one more game with myself — the one that runs, “So which little village on the chart is this one then?”

Llangadog as it turned out, and with that I headed home. 

Swansea had changed runways in m absence and it was a 30 degree crosswind at 15knots, just to make sure I was paying attention to the landing.

Good fun, and as  keep telling myself, there’s all the summer to come to get to new airfields.

Summing up (and visit to the doc)

Well according to the local AME I’m officially unlikely to drop dead in mid-air until at least 2014. 

Which is good.  Less good is that my eyes have “gone off” somewhat and the spare pair of specs now need to come along in the aeroplane with me.   (Before I’d managed to squeak in with a “score” of just above the bare minimum”)

I didn’t fly today, but took the opportunity to check the tiedowns after last night’s high winds.

Arriving home and with a lazy evening ahead I starting browsing the stats for this blog over the past year.  Some interesting and odd reading — particularly the search terms!

Click for larger image
Created in Wordle

Not entirely sure why the Haverfordwest Spitfire restoration scores so highly up there, perhaps there just aren’t many sites around highlighting that.   

Balloon popping is obviously popular — or people are utterly bemused by the notion and driven to Google it!

A fair amount of traffic appears to be people specifically looking for this blog by name, which is interesting.

And TOMSsy gets up there too!

Top five hits, in order…

1. Getting this far (The “About Me” equivalent)
2. Galway and the Aran Islands
3. The Definition of Bimble
4. The Isles of Scilly
5. Stretching my wings (First trip to Kemble post-PPL)

Utterly fascinated to note that if I was asked to pick three or four favourite flights, those ones would indeed be high in the running!

Since the exercise was so interesting (to me anyway) I’ve added the “Daily Top Posts” widget to the sidebar, find it under “Browse most popular posts”, should you be inclined to share in my navel-gazing

Final Flight of 2008

Family Christmases are always rowdy, chaotic and great fun at my Mum’s but by the time boxing day is done I generally need some space!

A dose of flying fits the bill nicely and a nice fat high had been building all week, with blue skies and great vis. Sadly, by the time I made it on the 29th it had all turned a bit stagnant. The morning mist had only lifted enough to create a gloomy layer to stratus at around 1500 to 2000 feet and the horizon was a mucky grey.

Since it was still early in the day I dawdled to the flying dub to catch up with any of the gossip going while I waited to see it it cleared.

There were plenty of “Christmas Voucher” flights up and about so the weather was good enough for “I can see my house from here” although I’d already given up on my vague notion of trying for Caernarfon.

Eventually I decided it was as good as it was likely to get and headed out for at least a local bimble. the aeroplane was less than keen to start in the cold and took several attempts. this did not pass unnoticed by air-ground who passed a ”helpful” query about whether I’d checked the fuel drain!

The wind had picked up and once out on the runway in the chilly air, TOMS sprang enthusiastically into the air almost fast enough to miss the lump in 10…

I stayed lowish at 1200′  and flew fairly aimlessly along south Gower and across the Loughor to observe progress on the horseracing track at Ffos Las, which now actually has turf — an improvement over last time I looked.

Pembrey’s in the throes of a runway extension in the hope of attracting the fly-in Irish visitors once it opens, and indeed its very close indeed.

I ambled onwards and orbited the large, and pretty castle on the top of the hill at Llansteffan, and wandered a little way up the Towy, which it overlooks, before the murk thickened.

Heading home, along the beach, I took advantage of the quiet day to make a quick and easy right-base rejoin to land back.

Sooo… On in to 2009 and since the cold clear weather is back, maybe we’ll have a nice dry crisp winter for flying.

I fancy Scotland as a trip this Easter, or Summer, and my cousin (“First Passenger” Lauren) has already buttonholed the empty seat for that one.

Still haven’t made it across to France, or the Channel Islands, so that’s to come to.  Project Prop and the BCC Flying Day again are both already on the calendar and I really must hie myself to some of the Young Aviator events too.

All in all, lots to look forward to!

2008’s flying…

Well since the return of TOMS we’ve had a leaky fuel tap, and new starting eccentricities and the clear cold blue sky days we’ve all been hoping for seem to have vanished into low cloud and fog whenever I stick my name on the booking sheet…

Nevertheless, how can I whinge when this was my flying year…

2008 Flying Snapshots

I flew a Liberator tail gunner to Project Propeller and taught the kids of the Burned Children’s Club Flying Day to make chainmail. I camped beside the wings in Devon, and sat in the P1 seat of Concorde at Manchester. I flew my sister to the Badminton Horse Trials and my stepdad from his local golf course. I helped reassemble and run up the engine of the Spirit of Brooklands Build-a-plane and sent many hours in the company of inspired and inspiring people. I watched the kids beat me at my own game on the stand at SPLASH, and was informed by my 4 year old nephew that he can fly my aeroplane once his feet reach the rudder. There were aerobatics in a Bulldog and low and fast stuff in a Yak. There were friends creeping up on the wing in the air and endless coffee and laughter on the ground.

There’s an outside chance I might still get airborne again this year. But if I don’t…

What do I want from 2009?

A year a bit like this one would be nice.

Back in the air

After the second year in a row of an “annual” which make you wonder if you’ve misunderstood the word, we have our Tommyhawk back.

As I was enjoying a week off work, I had an unusual amount of weekday flying available, and so was happy to go and pick it up. Rather than troll down by car this time, it had been arranged that one of the Yak contingent at Swansea, Nick, would give me a lift down there.

So up to the airport I went, only to find that for once it was someone else’s aeroplane refusing to start – the Yak’s compressed air starter was well and truly airless. Quick shufty round for spare bottles and a refill didn’t take too much time out of the day though, and I was soon stood on the wing with parachute and big grin.

Nick “showed me around” the rear cockpit and the eclectic set of units used on the instruments (most of which bore stickers in English alongside the Russian script) and checked I had no loose items to fall out of pockets and foul the controls. The importance of this was pretty obvious when I glanced down and saw control cables running between my feet! It’s all rather exposed…

The engine started promptly and was gently and very patiently warmed up before we moved off. Once on the runway the Yak bounded into the air and straight into a 2000′ a minute climb.

Funfun funfun fun…

Once set up for cruise Nick handed over to me, and actually let me fly most of the rest of the way into the circuit at Dunkeswell.

Zipping over the Devonshire countyside behind a big growly radial has rather a lot to commend it, in spite of the 60lph fuel burn which rather dwarfed TOMS’s normal 24lph! I was enjoying myself immensely. Despite being an imposing looking (and sounding) aeroplane the Yak presented no major drama to get used to, although I did find myself stomping at the rudder quite a lot, and struggling to get the thing in balance as much as I’d normally want to.

I flew as far as the downwind leg before handing back t Nick to start slowing us down and getting ready to land.  He then offered to hang around until I was actually airborne with TOMS in case of any last minute gotchas.

TOMS, it turned out, was still in the Flymoore hangar, just having received a last minute buffing.  I wandered around looking at all the work and some of the frustration at the time taken over the annual did ebb away somewhat.

The Flymoore staff shuffled aeroplanes and got TOMS outside and I was ready to go.  The wind had picked up and I was glad I’d done the majority of the walkaround checks in the relative warmth of the hangar.  Just checking the fuel drains left my fingers well and truly numb, and I rubbed them and blew on them before fumbling at the instruments.

Nick departed after a little goodbye twizzle in the the form of a run a and break which I watched while warming up both myself and the engine.  Dunkeswell is becoming a very familiar airfield, and I wound my way to the runway with the chart sat unheeded on my lap.

With less than half tanks and only me aboard, TOMS climbed out at an un-Yak-like, but quite respectable rate, and I felt very content indeed to be airborne in my own share-oplane once more.

It was runway 04 back at Swansea and since there were few people flying, it lent itself to an easy straight in approach.  I filled up, tried not to faint at the bill even though avgas has gone down a bit since TOMS went away, and taxyed back over to tie down.

Here’s to lots of clear, crisp, blue sky days now we can fly again!

Amazing the difference a few circuits can make!

Well I finally broke down in my patient waiting for our aeroplane to return from annual. With a day off work in the offing I phoned Derek from the Cambrian club with a plaintive, “Have you got a Tomahawk I can fly? I’m climbing the walls!”

Happily the very neat, newly leased G-BOMO was available, as was an instructor, since I was well out of club currency.

The morning arrived drizzly but clearing, and all I really wanted was to do some circuits to convince myself I hadn’t forgotten how to fly at all. Every time I have a gap of a few weeks I start wondering this, and though it’s never happened yet, I see having an instructor along as useful insurance. It’s also a chance to brush up on things like emergency procedures. I will willingly practice these on my own, but it’s hard to judge whether or not I’m getting them right or just reinforcing my own bad habits!

So circuits it was, and I made sure we planned some flapless and glide ones in there too.

I started up and spluttered out the call sign — abbreviated, G-BOMO is, “Golf Mike Oscar”, which is too close in syllables to TOMS’s “Golf Mike Sierra” for me to wrap my tongue around entirely successfully!

I was flying with one Dave Turner today, who I’d not flown with before, but who was very positive and encouraging. We talked as we flew — the wisdom of naming kids after sci-fi films, the scenery of the Gower, the PHD-worthy topic (in Dave’s words) of when and where to take the carb heat off again — the usual chit chat!

In no time at all I was relaxed and just happy to be up in the air. First circuit was actually better than the second, where I turned too early, missed the centreline, then got too low and slow. Meh. I suppose I should look on it as practice in sorting out stuff-ups! The actual touchdown was alright.

We finished up with a flapless approach, which I thought passable, and a glide approach which went more or less swimmingly and left me feeling pretty content with the world at large!

I can now face the wait to get our own aeroplane back with a bit more equanimity, happy in the knowledge that I do indeed remember what to do with my hands and feet to make it go…